Episode 11
Travelling Light E011S01 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here. Just a quick heads up for anyone who needs it that this episode's archive entry includes the consumption of alcohol as the Traveller spends an evening in the local tavern – which is rather appropriate, because our trailer this week comes from Inn Between, a fantasy podcast set in the Goblin's Head Inn, where adventurers go between adventures. They've just started their fifth season with a new group of adventurers who are a bunch of real lowlifes, so it's a great time to give them a listen. Stay tuned to the end of the credits to hear more.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Eleven.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
8th Enu 850.
To the community at Emerraine who carry the light.
Looking over my copy of the last missive I sent you (for I would be a very poor archivist indeed if I did not back up my own documents) I see that I have made mention of this region's rainy reputation. Specifically, I described this part of Peteimos as “rather wet”.
Well, friends, I can say with all the certainty of lived experience that the reputation is very well earned. It has rained solidly since we arrived in Komi, with a diligence that would put even the most conscientious members of our own community quite to shame.
Moreover, the sky here goes about its work with astonishing energy and inventiveness. This is no trudging drudgery, churning out the same featureless blanket of rain day after day, [laughing] oh no! No. This is precipitation elevated to an art form.
I wake to a world misted over in shimmering, gossamer nets, water drifting to the earth soft as falling cobwebs. Yet by the time I have finished my morning meditations, my little room is wild with sound of world-drowning torrents, hurled against the cabin window in flurrying, full-bodied blows.
Then, just when I have given up all hope of leaving the ship that day, the tempest dissipates. I have even seen the sun once or twice, peering pale between the clouds. I venture forth, lulled into a sense of safety by the gentle drizzle, almost too light to be called rain at all.
But I am deceived. For this drizzle is most cunning, not to mention single-minded as a peragi hound on the scent as it burrows and digs its way through every single seam of my clothing and soaks me, slowly but surely, to the bone.
But as my grandmother would say, [laughing] I am not made of sugar. It will take more that a little inclement weather to keep me cooped up when there is wide, albeit wet, world to be seen. And besides, it is the rain that grants the countryside around Komi so many of its particular charms.
It is a greener country than I have ever seen, quite unsurpassed in its vibrancy and vitality. Every turn of the head brings some new shade, some flourish of living things growing fast and strong. It is a green one can almost taste, the smell of it thick in the air that comes in great, lung-cleansing gusts.
It is also very muddy here, as one might expect. But I have never been so precious as to mind a little muck on my boots. Then again, I have discovered that this attitude is not one shared by all of us upon the Tola.
I mentioned last time I wrote that we had planned to go to the local tavern for our evening meal on the first day we arrived – and I told you my plans to convince Óli to join the excursion. You would not credit what their principle objection was to this plan.
They stood there, in a cabin I can only describe as “festooned” with robes and skirts and cloaks and capes and dresses, embroidered in every colour imaginable, and told me they had nothing to wear.
“It is dinner in a tavern,” I said. “It is hardly a high society event.”
Óli looked aggrieved. “No,” they agreed. “If it were, I should not have any trouble dressing.”
“You are very hard done by, with only such low companions as myself to make do with,” I said, doing my best to look sympathetic.
“Yes, I am! I can only imagine it is some test of will sent me by the gods to teach me humility.”
“Is it working?”
“No. I do not want get mud on my skirts!”
“So tie them up.”
“I shall get wet.”
“Yes, you will. And then you will sit in a warm, dry tavern, and eat and drink and make pleasant conversation with the several souls with whom you are sharing this journey, and you will dry off before you know it. And then we will walk back to the ship and you will get wet again. Such is life. We are meeting at the ship's hatch in an hour.”
I turned to go, but Óli stopped me, their hand firm on my arm. The humour had gone out of their face, replaced with something more uncertain.
“Is… everyone going?” they asked.
“I believe so.”
Their face twisted, and they opened their mouth, I am sure, to tell me that they would not join us after all. And that, I could not bear.
“Óli,” I said, looking up at them and trying to convey how sincerely I felt my words. “I would very much like you to come out tonight. I would like to spend the evening with you, and I would like to do so in the company of those who I consider to be my friends. I cannot put it more plainly than that.”
[sighing] They did not answer. Only retreated into their cabin and closed the door.
An hour later, I made my way to the ship's hatch to meet the others and walk into Komi together. (Not that there is much of Komi to walk into.) I went, I confess, with something of a heavy heart, wondering to myself what it could be that Óli found so unnerving about spending time the rest of the crew.
So you can imagine my delight on turning the corridor and seeing them, standing there with the rest and looking quite as relaxed as I had ever seen them.
Their finery was safely covered by a still rather luxurious travelling cloak, their skirts tied up around their knees, and a pair of boots on their feet which I can only assume were intended to be “sensible”.
They were making small talk with Tsabec when I arrived, and I did not like to interrupt, so spoke a little with Hesje as we waited for the others. Doctor Duytren was the last to join us, as usual, and as we headed off I made my way to Óli to greet them properly.
“Is it alright?” they asked me, gesturing to their outfit.
“You look lovely,” I said. “Though I am not sure those boots could ever be called 'low class'.”
“I should hope not! One of these days, I shall bring you to dine at the sort of establishment I am used to. It would do you good. Although… I might take you shopping beforehand,” they added, looking me up and down.
I would have said something to that, but before I could, the hatch opened and my objections we were washed from my mind in a gust of rain.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry EN85006-3: An account of a musical evening in Komi.
Key words: alcohol; beer; ceterra; Komi; music; musical instruments; percussion instruments; Peteimos; tamaselli
Notes:
The tavern in Komi is called The Faded Star, though you would be hard-pressed to discover that fact without asking the locals.
There is a sign above its door, but it has no words upon it – only a scattering of marks on a patchy teal background, washed out by years of wind and rain and showing the bare wood in places where the paint has flaked away.
I cannot help wondering if it was originally called The Star, and earned its adjective later as the sign fell victim to the years.
But if any of our party felt apprehensive about this unassuming exterior, I am sure their doubts were washed away as soon we stepped inside. The air was warm and full of laughter and the smells of food, and we were greeted cheerfully by all who noticed our entrance.
The food was wonderful. It was served in several small dishes and plates and pots that my companions and I shared amongst ourselves. The local palate prefers complexity and contrast, each dish heavily spiced and packed with flavour so that every mouthful plays with the last and next in delightful variety.
To accompany our meal, those of us who enjoy alcohol ordered some of the local beer. It too was very good, cold and cloudy with a fresh, hoppy flavour… [sighs happily]
Uh. But this is not about the beer. It is about what happened a little later, after we had finished eating.
A few of our party chose to call it a night and went back to the ship – namely, Hesje, Doctor Duytren and Operator Aman. But Wolph and I were rather keen to stay and to… continue sampling the local beer. It really was very good.
Annaliese, Óli and Tsabec all agreed to stay with us, and soon the drink and the conversation were flowing finely.
Then, quite of a sudden, someone new entered to a chorus of greetings. They were clearly as well-liked as they were well-known, and I confess, they did draw the eye. They had a sort of rangey, leggy presence as they strolled through the tavern with an easy smile.
There was an instrument slung over their shoulder – something carved and wooden, with a short neck, a wide, fat-bellied body, and glittering strings. I learnt later it was called a ceterra, and is played by picking the strings with one's fingers, rather like playing the rhuon from back home.
The newcomer took a moment to situate themselves, plinking and twanging the strings as they tuned up. And then, they started to play.
The ceterra rang out over the tavern, its voice clear and sweet. And then the newcomer started to sing with it, the rich counter-tenor of their voice lending weight and depth to the song.
And as they played, others came into the tavern with instruments of their own. One person had a set of pipes that fluttered like singing birds, while another blew into something that sounded like it had a reed. Its voice was rich and mellow, the player's fingers dancing over the keys.
More and more people joined, playing song after song – drums and fiddles and flutes, each instrument slipping seamlessly into the medley, the sound growing more and more complex as the night went on.
And the onlookers joined in too. It was impossible not to! The songs were clearly well-known, and the other revellers sang along with gusto.
But even our little cadre of strangers were pulled into the celebration, clapping or stamping in time – more of the latter as the night wore on and our table filled with empty glasses.
I am, as you know, rather a gregarious person than not, a trait which is hardly dampened by the consumption of alcohol. Naturally, I fell into conversation with the people sitting at the tables near us.
We were soon fast friends, and my companions and I were welcomed into the throng with all the warmth as if we had been born and raised in the village, save a little gentle teasing of our various accents.
At, uh, some point, someone pushed something into my hands, telling me it was called a tamaselli. It is a small, cylindrical drum, its skin tied to the frame with colourful ropes, and it is played by tucking the drum under one's arm and squeezing the ropes with one's elbow to alter the tone, all the while tapping its face with one's fingertips.
I cannot pretend I played well, but nobody seemed to mind. The locals cheered me on, pleased with my effort and enthusiasm, if not my actual ability. [laughs]
By the time we staggered back to the Tola, the sky was lightening towards the horizon, and I was quite giddy with myself. And with the beer.
My new friends insisted I take the tamaselli home with me, and I played it all the way back to the ship! Much to the consternation of my companions. But their objections are as nothing to me, for I know I shall not improve unless I practice! Which I shall. Just as soon as I have had a little sleep. And I am very sleepy.
[Title music: rhythmic instrumental folk. It plays throughout the closing credits.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light was created by H.R. Owen and Matt McDyre, and is a Monstrous Productions podcast. This episode was written and performed by H.R. Owen.
This week’s entry to the archives was based on an idea by Snootleboop, with accompanying artwork available on our social media accounts.
If you've got an idea for an archive entry, we want to hear it. You can send us anything from a one line prompt to a fully written entry through our website, by email, or on social media. For more information, see the show notes.
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[Fade to silence]
[Tavern sounds. Chair scoot.]
TESSA
Oh, hello. Welcome to the Goblin’s Head. What can I get you?
TESSA
Coming right up.
[A couple footsteps away, and then back again. A glass set down.]
TESSA
There you are. [pause] What’s that? [pause] Oh, you want to know about adventurers. Are you looking to hire one or become one?
TESSA
Ah, just the information. Yes, we do get plenty of adventurers through here. Lots of folks off on quests or selling their services. But I admit, those five—over there? In the corner—they are a bit special.
TESSA
Why? Well. There comes a point where an adventurer turns into a hero, doesn’t there?
TESSA
Oh, them in particular? They’ve got quite the story. They didn’t like each other very much at the beginning, but since then they’ve grown quite close. At least I think that’s the case—they do still argue often.
When they’re not bringing wild animals in here or summoning magical creatures into the dining room, or casting spells, that is. Honestly, the building can only take so much—
TESSA
What’s that? (beat) I wouldn’t like to tell tales, everything I know is second hand. I’m always here, see. I only hear what they say while they’re at the Inn.
TESSA
Where can you learn more? I suppose you’ll have to ask them. (Pause) Is there anything else I can get you?
HANNAH
Inn Between—that’s Inn with two n’s—a story of the adventure between the adventures. Find us on a podcatcher near you, or at TheGoblinsHead.com.
[Fade out.]
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